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cannibalisticskittles · 5 months

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He’d had her pegged as an easy mark from the beginning, so quick to forgive a knife at the neck as she was. Quick to offer that neck for a bite, too, and to defend his continued presence to the rest of the group.

True to form, it had only taken the suggestion of an evening to themselves and she was hooked – all wide eyes and hitched breaths, reduced to stumbling over her words as her face slowly but steadily flushed from its usual purple to a deep plum. Even through today, she’s had trouble looking him in the eye, flushing faintly each time he’s entered her line of sight.

But it still comes as a surprise when, the very moment that the first of the tent stakes breaks ground in camp, Amity stands up and declares, “I’ll scout the perimeter. And Astarion will go too.”

Eager.

He’s almost impressed – he didn’t think she had it in her to be quite so bold. A little annoyed, too, if he's honest. He isn’t as prepared as he'd like to be; so much for setting a scene. But he'll manage. Let it not be said that he isn't resourceful.

And she's already started scurrying to the treeline around camp, heedless of the eyes on her back, so – why not?

Astarion – far more aware of the presence of prying eyes, but uncaring – follows.

It takes some effort to catch up with her, though it isn’t exactly difficult; as far as she’s gotten, she is anything but subtle, and the sound of her movement is a beacon leading him straight to her. There won’t be a twig left unsnapped by the time she's done here.

She’s out of breath when he finally matches stride with her. Amity doesn’t even fully turn to look at him, just glances askance and returns to forging boldly – and loudly – ahead.

Where exactly does she intend to go? There’s nothing but dense trees in this direction for – miles, most likely. He hadn’t had the opportunity to find a nice, secluded spot like he had intended, but as far as he’s aware, she never had the opportunity to slip away from the group to find one, either. Unless she’s been sneaking away in the middle of the night, only to return before dawn and make a show of sleeping in later than any of them – but no, those snores of her always seem genuine. And consistent.

They’re unlikely to just stumble upon a clearing, blundering through the underbrush as they are. All this accomplishes is taking them further and further from the relative safety of the camp. With this in mind, when she next reaches up to push aside a low-hanging tree branch, Astarion catches her wrist gently before she can duck underneath.

She looks back. Her eyes flick to his, briefly, and then away again.

“Now, Amity, dear, don’t you think that’s far enough?”

“Is it?” She peers around, as though there’s anything to see but identical trees in every direction, then lets go of the branch. “You’re probably right. It’s been a while since I've done this. And I suppose distance is sort of arbitrary at a certain point anyway; covering enough ground is at odds with covering a manageable amount of ground, and it can be difficult to know how far is too far as opposed to not far enough, and–”

He can feel another outpouring of words beginning. She’ll go on at length like this for far too long, he knows. If he lets her.

So he won’t. Luckily for him, he has recently discovered a way to still her speech. Still holding her wrist, he strokes a thumb over the delicate skin there, feeling the way her pulse flutters in response.

Whatever words she meant to say die unsaid. “...well. Um. As long as we stay alert, I’m sure it’s fine. Even a small perimeter is useful, once it’s been secured.”

“Hmm.” It’s almost a hum; a tuneless little noise. Is that really what’s on her mind now? Or – is she just putting on a polite front? Difficult to tell when she refuses to pull her eyes away from the greenery surrounding them. “I can’t make any promises about that, darling.” She angles her head, and he answers her unspoken question with a soft chuckle. “We’re finally alone, after all, and I would much rather focus on you.”

Immediately, a deep flush creeps up her cheeks. How easy it is to elicit a reaction from her.

“Oh,” she says, “I–” Though she struggles for a moment to put voice to that particular thought, she seems unable to. “Oh,” she simply says again. “Well. I… see.”

There’s a slight pull against his hold as she leans back, and he releases his grasp on her wrist obligingly. She immediately sweeps that hand through her dark hair, pushing it away from her eyes – though she still does not meet his gaze directly. In fact, she locks her eyes somewhere off to the side. The motion reveals the remains of her gift from the other night – puncture marks, faded from that initial raw red to a fainter pink around the edges, though they do look just a touch raw even now.

Astarion takes a half-step closer. Amity tenses, her breath stuttering, but she does not move away – and, for the first time tonight, she looks at him and nowhere else. Her eyes are golden and wide – at first. Then her lids flutter as if in anticipation of his touch as he moves closer again, a mere hairsbreadth separating them.

“I think,” he murmurs, raising a hand to trace the column of her throat, feather-light, as she shivers, “you would prefer that, too. Wouldn’t you?”

“I…”

His fingers come to rest over the marks. He could freshen those up for her. Astarion knows she’s aching for that, if the way she squirmed beneath him that night is any indication – and of course it is.

“I think,” he says softly, “you would. I think you want to be the center of attention tonight. You deserve it, after all. I think you want to be seen. To be known. To be tasted.”

She swallows hard. “I… want…” He angles his head ever so slightly closer, and for a moment, her eyes slide shut. “I want–”

And then she shakes her head and seems to find the will to open those heavy eyelids again, though the act appears to take a great deal of effort on her part.

“–to… talk to you, actually. About that. I want – to clear things up.” Amity straightens and ever-so-gingerly pushes his hand away, then quickly clutches her hand close to her chest. She draws in a deep, bracing breath. “Astarion, you don’t have to do this. You don’t owe me.”

…what? “Is that what you’re worried about?” He tilts his head as he regards her carefully.

She frowns, then nods. “Before, you said… you said you wanted to repay me.”

“Darling, that was more of an excuse than anything. Think nothing of it.”

“I – I have to think of it,” she protests. “I don’t want you to feel like you owe me. And I don’t want you to do anything you don’t want to do out of a sense of… obligation towards me.”

Astarion tsks his tongue. “Obligation? Perish the thought. No, darling, I’ve been waiting for an opportunity like this for far too long. If it makes you feel better, then fine, don’t think of this as repayment, think of it as… an indulgence.”

“An indulgence?” She repeats, looking fully befuddled.

“In you, my dear. In each other.” Gods above, she cannot truly be this naive.

“No, I – I gather that, yes,” she says. She pinches the bridge of her nose briefly before continuing. “What I mean to say is – why?”

“Why does anyone do this sort of thing?” he asks breezily. “For fun. Isn’t that what you want?”

He hadn’t thought it was possible for her to flush any darker, but she does now. “That’s – besides the point, and also, not what I meant. Why do you want… me?”

Now, what kind of a question is that? “Can’t you imagine why?”

She shakes her head firmly. “I cannot.”

Of course she can’t. He huffs, but is quick to paste a charming smile on his face once more.

“Well,” he says, “where to begin? After all, you're a vision. You really are something to behold.”

His mind kicks into overdrive. Now, what is she most likely to be receptive to? Bearing, general demeanor; something about finding that irritatingly persistent streak of charitability irresistible? Or… perhaps it’s better to single out something present from the very beginning. People do like feeling special after all, and to be seen immediately taps into that sense quite nicely. So, then, what? Complexion, eyes, hair – well, hair might be a difficult one; it looks like someone has haphazardly taken a knife to those curls. Assuming she recognizes that fact, she’s likely to see through that one. But the rest should be easy enough to inspire some honeyed words.

Eyes are always a safe bet. The window to the soul, and all that.

“…your lovely eyes, for one,” he says. “Such beauty could not be overlooked.”

“My… eyes,” she repeats flatly.

He pivots smoothly to the next point. “And how could I ignore the temptation of that finely-crafted body of yours?”

“Hmm,” is all she says.

It’s difficult to parse the expression on her face; her brow is slightly knit, as it was before, and her eyes, pupilless as they are, reveal nothing. But… it’s a far cry from the enraptured, doe-eyed look she’d given him the other night, so perhaps a change of tactics is required; a move away from specificity.

“But really, there’s just something about you – it’s difficult to put into words, but I knew from that first moment that you would ruin me.” The flush returns; her brow unknits. Good. He’s on the right track at last. “It should come as no surprise; I’m sure I’m not the first to be drawn in by your particular charms.” Though perhaps they, too, were driven off by the intensity of her questions, if she demands this level of reassurance from all her would-be lovers.

“The first–” And she frowns deeply. “…Astarion, what are you playing at here?”

He blinks. “What?” That’s… far from a warm reception.

“Where is this coming from? The – want? And the, the flowery words?”

His pulse cools. “Coming from? Whatever do you mean? All I intend is to share a night of depraved carnal lust with you, is that so hard to believe?”

But the hard line of her brow does not soften. “Yes.”

A flicker of frustration. Why must she be so – obstinate? It’s not as though she’s been particularly discerning about the nonsense she accepts from anyone else throughout their travels. Why does she have to choose now to grow a sense of doubt?

“If words alone aren’t enough to prove my desire,” he says, as slowly and patiently as he can manage, “why don’t you allow me to show you?”

“I – n-no. No, I don’t want that. And I – I – I don’t think you really want that either.” In an instance, all that hesitation turns to fury, as she turns now-accusatory eyes on him. “So what do you want? And don’t say it’s me.”

“What am I meant to say, then?” he snaps. And where on earth is this hostility coming from? “I don’t know what more I can say to convince you–”

“Oh, so you didn’t have more pretty words prepared?” Amity snorts. “What, weren’t you going to compliment my horns next? My fangs?” Her voice takes on a singsong, mocking tone he’s never heard her use before. She reaches for her tail, and lets the length of it slip through her fingers. “My tail? Come off it, Astarion, what do you really want?”

“You–” The word comes out in a hiss he hadn’t intended, but it’s too late to pull that back now – particularly when he sees how her lip curls into a smirk at the sound. “–are infuriating.”

She lets out a short, sharp laugh. “That feels honest, at least. Go on, then; tell me how you truly feel.”

“I think I’ve been quite clear about that already,” he snaps. “And yet here you are, demanding still more from me. What will it take to satisfy you? How much praise do you demand?”

“To satisfy–” She chokes on the words.

“Yes, dear, something I gather you have trouble with, hmm?”

“You–” She gapes at him. “You’ve done nothing but spout trite lines! What am I meant to think of that?”

“And you were hoping for something else then, is that it?” Irritation flares hotly in the pit of his stomach.

“That’s not what I meant.”

“And what did you mean, exactly? What more would you ask of me?”

“I don’t know, something other than – than–” She throws out her hands. “–than whatever in the hells this flattery is. Astarion, you can’t really expect me to believe that you knew from that first moment I would ruin you? That you really were lost in my eyes when you were sizing up the angle you needed to press your knife to my throat? That’s absurd. So – some honesty would be nice!”

He laughs, a sharp, bitter sound. “You want to talk about honesty? How about this for a start: what exactly were you expecting to happen, hmm?” Astarion waves a hand, gesturing broadly around them. “That we would come out here and… talk?” The word comes out sickly, stickily sweet. “Really?”

Her mouth opens, but no sound emerges. She blinks once, twice, a third time. When she finally speaks, her voice is reproachful. “…yes?”

This time, his laugh is drawn out – and markedly harsher. “And that merited coming all this way? Leaving the camp behind? Wandering into the woods to be alone with me, all so you could – divest me of the idea that I owed you?” He adopts a slight lilt for this last phrase, a tribute to her own way of speaking. She does not seem to appreciate the gesture, if the way her eyes narrow is any indication. “And then everything would be right as rain, and we’d… walk happily back to camp together?

This time, her answer is a touch less reproachful and much more hesitant. “…yes.”

“No, no, no.” He points an accusatory finger at her. Amity’s gaze flickers to his hand as her mouth twists into a scowl. “You shook and shivered like a leaf in my arms and now here you are, acting as though you’re so above it all.” There’s a slight twinge of satisfaction in the way his words make her lips twist. “So unmoved by my trite lines. And yet…”

Astarion begins to lean closer. As before, she tenses but does not move away – but he can see her breath quicken, and can almost hear how her pulse stutters in response.

The more he prods at this, the more she shrinks back. She has a certain naivité about her that suggests inexperience, so he… ventures a guess.

“...and yet you’re here. Seems to me you weren’t just hoping to talk, were you? No, you wanted something more – you’re practically aching for it. But you're frightened.”

The baring of teeth this remark earns feels like it’s hit its mark, and spurs him on to continue.

“You were looking for a reason to back out all this time, weren’t you? And now you blame me because it isn’t whatever grand romance you’d built up in your head and you can’t bear to admit that. How’s that for honesty?”

“I – you can't be serious,” she blanches.

“Oh, but I very much am.”

“Astarion, that’s–” She frowns, but something softens in her expression as she shakes her head. “That is not what’s happening here.” Her words are gently delivered – unbearably, patronizingly comforting.

It's awful.

“Isn’t it?” Astarion tilts his head, watching her closely. “Maybe you’re right.” Something like relief crosses her face at his words. “Perhaps… you don’t even know what you’re after. Is that it, then?” The relief in her expression disappears. Good. “Has anyone ever measured up to your lofty expectations? Or have you been too uptight to let them get close? Too… needy for your would-be lovers?”

Her first attempt at a response only elicits a strangled, reedy squawk. “You really think that I – that I–”

The fact that she can’t even bring herself to finish that thought convinces him that yes, he’s got her figured out.

“Oh, yes, I very much do think ‘that.’” He pulls back and pretends to examine his nails. Though – ugh, there is some dried viscera there. “If you’d told me earlier, dear, I wouldn’t have bothered. I don’t often make a habit of defrosting frigid little ice queens; I do have better things to do with my time, you know.”

“You are such a–” She bites back whatever she was going to say next in lieu of a scowl, but he can’t help but to goad her on.

“Such a…?” he prompts, a hand cupped around one ear to better hear her answer.

“Bastard!” She bites out.

“Why must you be so – so–” She hisses out a breath through her teeth, drawing herself up to her full height – though this still isn’t nearly enough to raise her past his eye level. “Vexing!” And then she huffs, turns on her heel, and abruptly stomps off deeper into the woods.

He doesn’t bother to quiet his laugh at this rather uncharacteristic display of vulgarity from her.

“I was just trying to help, and you – you –” She hisses out a breath through her teeth, drawing herself up to her full height – though this still isn’t nearly enough to raise her past his eye level – and then she huffs, turns on her heel, and abruptly stomps off deeper into the woods.

He calls out after her as she goes, falsely cheery. “Ta-ta, darling; maybe you’ll find someone more to your liking out there!” He doesn't let his smile drop until he is sure she is well out of sight.

So much for that plan.

#astarion #amity tag #he talks a lot of shit here for someone in biting range #she's not normally so faltering but she's real taken aback by the sheer audacity #baldur's gate 3 #some of these insults are verrrrry much pulled out of my ass lmao.

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